


I Don't Want Your Photograph - Destiel

by NunyaBusyNessYaMess



Category: SPN, Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Caring John Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Anger Issues, Dean Winchester Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Lost and Stitched Together Theme, M/M, Nightmares, Protective John Winchester, References to Illness, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:52:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15752046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NunyaBusyNessYaMess/pseuds/NunyaBusyNessYaMess
Summary: ~Dean Winchester is a teenage boy, who is constantly on the road with his grumbling father John Winchester and his quirky, younger, brother Sam Winchester. They all move to be closer to a family friend by the name of Bobby Singer for a while. Moving into the way, way outskirts of the cities into an old, tar smelling house, in the middle of a broken, old town, in the middle of nowhere. He suddenly bumps into a boy who caught Dean's curiosities and attention as a whole.~Castiel Novak has a knack for photography and an odd obsession with cameras, currently engulfed in Polaroids and bees. He teaches Dean the fun and the brokenness of small-town life and how things, people and social status form together there. Castiel gives a new meaning to life to Dean, all the while Dean teaches Castiel new ways of expressing his photography by being Castiel's ultimate and irrevocable inspiration.~





	1. Chapter 1

**I Don't Want Your Photograph**

_Destiel_  

Changes - David Bowie 

**_"Turn And Face The Strange"_ **

It was a daily thing; the ache in the shoulder, spine, back, and neck, muscles, and bones; all twined together into one giant ache and multiple aches. A thing that was a constant reminder of exhaustion from traveling on the open road and being in discomfort sitting or laying in the leather seats of the ole 1967 Chevy Impala. Even when they weren't traveling Dean could feel the exhaustion. The ache in stiffened joints, tired muscles and the smell of stale fries that were trapped underneath the seats. A smell that became all too familiar that the Winchester's barely noticed it anymore. It was a part of them.

Dean stretched his arms outwards, lacing his fingers in the process and bringing them forward, away from him. He cracked his knuckles and craned and cracked his neck, his young primed body popping quietly as he stretched. He had been woken up, to his annoyance, to his ecstatic little brother, Sammy, who sat in the back seat of the Impala.

Sam beamed at him, childish grin and gleeful blush across his boyish features, eager and determined to get inside the new - well new to them - house. Sam climbed out of the car, somehow practically jumping out the open window and opening the car door altogether, leaving the heavy door open as he scurried away with his tattered, dingy, orange duffel bag in his hands to the rickety, graying porch. John Winchester grumbled after his younger son, digging the keys out of the ignition and climbed out of the vehicle, closing the door with a crashing creak that woke Dean more from his daze from the drowsiness his eyes held. He looked out to the house that they were renting there for a while since John Winchester finally managed to find work at an old coal plant just a few miles out of Sioux Falls. Ending them smack, dab in the middle of nowhere; Hartford, South Dakota.

Dean turned to look at his father in the rearview mirror that had called him over to the trunk of the car, he popped his shoulder and with his own duffel bag that had been at his feet the whole trip, climbed out of the Impala. Closing the weighted, passenger door with the same creaking intent, slamming the door the same way that John had earlier when he left the vehicle, somewhat to prove a point, but also those doors were a bit of a bitch to close anyway. "Sir?" he looked to his father.

"Help your brother inside and take your case inside," John ordered, standing broad shouldered as he dug to the back of the trunk, his voice low from the exhaustion of driving such a long trip, a six-hour drive, all in one go, very few stops this time around. Nothing they weren't used to. Shit, they lived in the Impala once for a while when times were tough.

"Yes, sir." Dean lifted the suitcase from the trunk, shifting his weight with the duffel bag over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact as he took the keys from his father.

Dean looked at the farmhouse. It was a small, family-sized, white, two-story house. The white paint had chipped and aged off and the wood beneath had begun to turn a dingy gray and had a few chipped spots off the wood siding. The porch was bowing and shaking beneath his weight as he walked up to the steps towards the door. _Guess this will be home for the while_ , Dean thought to himself sarcastically, _maybe a week or so tops_.

He sighed as he set the case down and fiddled with the bundle of keys to unlock the door. The key stuck in the lock, as expected, it hadn't been used in years at the most. Finally, he managed to get the door unlocked and set the keys of the windowsill. Sam ran inside and up the stairs, most likely choosing his room, a new sense of territory, of ownership. They owned nothing beside the contents in their suitcases and duffel bags.

Dean carried the suitcase in and stood in the doorway, getting a surrounding of the area before entering completely as if looking for any threats, a habit he had. He took a deep, regretful whiff. His nose crinkled as he cringed, he felt like sneezing and he could slightly see some of his freckles come into his vision as his face contorted. He smelt pungent air of the musty, mildew, tar-settled covered walls, aged paint, and dust. Most likely from the previous renters of many years before that had smoked, slowly shading the walls yellow-brown with their long term smoking, a dying habit, their habit. Not his.

"C' mon, Dean, outta the way."

Dean moved out of his thoughts at the attention of detail he grasped from the sound of his father's gruff voice. Almost flinching, he moved away from the doorway swiftly giving his father room to enter with a load of boxes, probably books, maybe the few dishes they owned, two of them from the accident and a few others from yard sales, thrift shops the likes. Dean went up to the stairs slowly, suitcase in hand, the duct taped covered strap of his duffel over his shoulder. He steered himself to his right, away from the master bedroom, and turned to the nearest room, which was empty. Sam knew their constructed rules;

_1: Always take the room furthest from Dad's._

_2: Stay out of any fights_

_3: Keep your mouth shut during them too._

_4: Get a kit._

It's a just in case matter of escape for the two of them, in case John gets off his I'm-Drunk-Off-My-Rocker moods, the rarely happen anymore.

They had always managed to end up in South Dakota. John had a few friends that lived around Pierre and Ellis that could check on Dean and Sam while he was at work or away on one of his benders. This time in Hartford thought they would be in the care of Bobby Singer who was now announced to be regularly the one to do it now. Dean was always at ease with the older man, he considered Bobby family at this point in life since Bobby has taken the boys in so many times in their lives.

Bobby had come over that evening to help the Winchester’s unpack and put necessities in place. He had even checked the plumbing since there was a leak in the bathroom faucet, allowing Dean to help because as he put it in his thick drawl “Even idjits need t'know a way 'round rustin' pipes.”

Dean was always relaxed when it came to working with his hands, he especially liked working on anything technical and car related. He learned everything about cars that he could between Bobby and John. At one of his old schools, well the last one he attended before the move, he ended in the Auto-Tech classes and was working his way to being a licensed mechanic, but that changed when they moved away a week before his test. It had infuriated him, but he never told his dad his plan on going to college for engineering after he saved money up and got Sammy through it first, Sam had way more potential when it came to academics. Not like the man would care anyway, or even notice. So, it was just another thing Dean would “let go” of in the long run and would have to "forget about", like that girl Cassie that Dean had trained himself to believe that she was just one of his crushes and not the love of his life, he promised to write to her if cell service was shit. Which it was.

He was handing Bobby tools this time around though, so he ended up twiddling his fingers or rubbing the greasy tools in his hands until Bobby asked for them.

“What’s eatin’ ya, kid?” Bobby’s voice woke him from his thoughts of Cassie and working with his hands, “Ya seem antsy,” he looked at the man under the sink, then looked away again.

Dean fiddled with the wrench in his hand, the metal cool against his fingers and he pressed his thumbnail into the grooves, scratching to pop one at a time. “School,” he mumbled low, barely audible if his voice wasn't so easy to carry as is and in a small space that the bathroom was. He stared at the greasy grooves on the tool, "Starting a new one's got me nervous."

Bobby huffed and sat up from under the sink wiping water from his hands with an old grease rag he carried everywhere, “Ya’ know you can talk to me,” Bobby trailed off, “Is it about your daddy?”

Dean shook his head, looking down at his steel-toed, boot's shoelaces, “Just tired.” he sighed, his eyes feeling bleary.

“Mhm,” Bobby hummed, “Well, whenever you wanna talk about your old man or anything else, talk.” he grabbed another tool and moved the pipe to the side, “You can go on to your room, take a rest.”

“You sure?” Dean checked Bobby’s face for another order for a new tool or to see if it was a joke.

“‘Course I’m sure, you’ve been travelin' for about a week straight, back and forth to God knows where, and you ain’t doin’ no good bein' in here twiddlin' your thumbs and bendin' my tools.” Bobby barked a tease, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

Dean smiled lightly to Bobby, “Thanks, Bobby.”

“Now go on, ya idjit.” Bobby grumped with a smile.

Dean stood slowly, head swimming with dizziness and left the avocado-green bathroom. The bathroom he knew he would be scrubbing down the next day. Not because he had to, but because who knew when the last time it had been cleaned and God knows who had lived there before them. He cringed and shivered at the thought and tip-toed to his room.

He entered his room, dust was settled on the bowing bedframe and the old, rustic dresser that was left over from the last family, from God knows when the only thing updated in this house were the bathrooms and kitchen and that had to be in the 1960s to the possible 1980s since they were multicolored and pukey looking. Today was productive in travel, fixing and unpacking, but he never slowed down enough to actually unpack anything in his room, like, ever. He opened his window to let some air in and just decided to spread a blanket down across the full-sized bed and lay on it, he wasn’t much for covers anyway, he was sure he’d be warm enough in his KSU Wildcats hoodie. He kicked his shoes off and laid out in a supine position, one leg bent up and hands locked behind his head staring at the decaying colored, popcorn ceiling.

The window behind him drafted in a breeze and an orange-tinted light through old, white- no, yellowed, sheer curtains from the light pole by the driveway, giving him a detailed view of the textured wall that had seemed to once have been light and bright blue, but was now a dingy, burnt, tar-covered filter of blue. The wind outside whistled and howled as it passed the house and through his window making the dusty curtains float around him, allowing some gray-blue moonlight in. He let out a deep breath and regretfully had inhaled back in the cool, dust-filled air, leaving him each time the urge to cough or hiccup.

Maybe tomorrow he’d be able to go into the small town and walk around the town square after. He and Sam could look for a diner or some type of homely restaurant and hang out while their dad was away. He might even be able to get a job before school started out, meet some students if any hung around the town, it seemed doubtful to Dean since the town of Hartford seemed practically abandoned. Maybe tomorrow will be more at ease for all of them. Maybe tomorrow would be different. Changes are hopefully happening here. 

Some Kind Of Monster - Metallica 

**"Some** _**Kind Of Monster"** _

_Thunder crackle, his eyes were closed._

_Dean felt goosebumps cover him, hair standing on end ad he opened his eyes and looked out to the gray, ghostly field, he turned around at the sound of thunder behind him, flinching at the deep roar. Behind him a pale woman in a tattered, white, nightgown stood just a few feet from him, whispering in echos that seemed far away, but all at once, in his ear. Her hair was tangled and blowing in the harsh, cold wind and framing her sallow features and her intense gaze bore towards him in a sacred fury of sorrow and desperation._

_He called a cry to her, but words didn’t form from his fumbling lips and his voice seemed muted beneath the harsh blowing wind and thunder, but maybe he just couldn't make a sound at all, to begin with, maybe he was just mute this time around and the fear of that being permanent struck his core. The chilling wind whistled past him, stinging his eyes with dust, tufting up his hair, he blinked away the tears that had begun to coat his eyes and he shielded them with his forearm as he looked to her. The sound of the thunder rushed through his body like a bass drum, hair on his arm stood straighter and the rumble or the vibration coated his lungs in armor to muffle him more, he had trouble breathing now. She screamed at him and his tears began to fall as he gasped out to her in his silence._

_Screaming, shrieking, a noise so cruel to his ears that they began to ring. She was suddenly at a gnarled and knotted oak tree, aged at the perfection of low branches. She was standing on an old, rusty, metal, milk bucket below a thick and twisted branch. He called to her again and ran to her, his legs buckling and wobbling, stuck in what seemed like quicksand, but his voice was projected into an empty void and he wasn’t fast enough to get to her. She still continued to scream like he was some kind of monster. A shallow, broken, hateful, loving, stupid, boy. Nonetheless a monster._

_She kicked the bucket below her and in that instant, the rope around her frail neck snapped tightly around from her dead weight and she was left hanging and swinging to the wind, she was brought to silence, so broken, so deprived of freedom or any admission of guilt and pain she carried in her heart. Above thunder sounded and Dean could barely keep his eyes off how the darkening sky had started to crack and twist into the piece. A blinding stream of bright, blue light struck the tree. The tree leaves emitted themselves into a hungry, blood-red, angry flame and the branches into a deep, dark and settled obsidian, the bark looking that of the scales of a dragon._

_He fell to his knees, hot tears falling down his cheek and screamed at her, heartbroken and. A crack in the sky moved his feelings to his heart, deeper still than before and lightning struck again, white and blinding him. It flashed before his very eyes beside him the next, giving him a buzzed feeling after it cracked a roar making his ears ring higher in a frequency that made his ears bleed and the sky shatter above him, falling in large chunks like snow flurries around and above._

_He looked to the heavens seeing the fallen pieces of the sky and then another stream of light barreling, so bright and full of prideful fury to rid him of impurities, all of it glory coming downwards to him. Right for him._

 

Dean woke up his chest tight, heaving and aching in his deep cored panic, he sat up and opened the drawer of his side table by his bed and relieved himself of the quick-paced bile that came up from the pits of his stomach. He shakingly wiped his mouth and the chill of the wind on his drenched back sent a cascade of goosebumps up onto his freckled arms. His chest heaved again and he spits in the drawer, clearing the rest of the bile from his mouth and cringing at the acidic taste. He shook his head in frustration, blinking away at the bubbling, hot tears that beaded in his eyes.

He had that dream countless of nights lately, whenever he was in a new place that wasn’t a motel or on the side of the road in the Impala, that dream...that nightmare came back to him. Came back more haunting and realistic it left him sicker than a dog eating grass each time. He could almost taste the smoke behind his tongue from the dark, dragon-scaled oak tree from his dream and could almost feel the ache for a solid, clean breath. It seemed that the heaviness of the smoke stuck in his lungs forever.

He rose from the bed and went to the bathroom. He closed the creaking door softly, turning the doorknob so it wouldn’t click shut in the eerily quiet hallway and turned on the light after closing it. He turned the faucet, the knob squeaking, hurting his now sensitive and overstimulated ears and the water fell into his hands. He managed to swish some in his mouth and spit it out, he repeated this process until the acid was from his mouth. He huffed and collected more, splashing his face. Head down he looked at himself.

His gaze met his reflection, his cheeks sallow and skin seemed a green-grey under the lighting, the sweat on him gave his skin a sickish, green glow, he wasn’t sure if the color was from his eyes or the horrid, green tile flooring. He swallowed harshly, his throat dry and caving in, He looked at himself, he looked like a frail, broken boy, that was ready to break or who had done horrid things or had horrid things done to him, all of the above. He looked like some kind of monster, one that took all the blame and carried a huge weight on a constant cycle. He sighed at himself and brushed his teeth.

After he finished he looked at his watch, its dark screen reading out 4:47 a.m. He huffed, bracing his arms on the counter, thumbs flat against the surface. Might as well stay up, John will be up to leave for work. He quietly made his way downstairs. The wooden steps creaked beneath his weight.

“Dean.” John’s voice bellowed, “Whattaya doin’ up?”

Dean flinched and turned to his father who was at the top of the steps, “Gonna make a grocery list and get out there before Sammy wakes up.”

His father stared, “You had a dream again, didn’t ya?”

Dean sighed, looking at the wooden step, he was going need to sweep them or the dust and dirt sticking to his feet would drive him crazy, “Yes, sir.” he answered.

“I assume you got sick then?”

“Yes, sir.” He looked up, shoulders tensing up to stand straighter, “I was going down to make a list and then clean it up.”

“Been takin’ your medicine like you're 'posed to?”

“Y' sir,” Dean answered without hesitation, his eyes focusing on his fathers. His father hummed as he stared back, focusing on his son. Dean took his father’s stare as a way of his father studying him to see if Dean was lying to his father.

“Well, continue...” John bellowed, turning to the restroom, “I’ ma get ready for work.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean sighed out, continuing his way down the last of the creaking steps.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little run on the town, a new place to eat, a few new people to meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, short, but getting to where I want it.

Small Town - John Mellencamp

**“Got Nothing Against A Big Town”**

Dean cleaned up the drawer, but by cleaned up that meant that all he really did was just throw it away by the curb alongside a white dirt road, it was old and smelled of age, settled-tar, and slow-rot anyway. The wood on the inside was porous so there’s really no way of getting rid of the mess Dean made in the drawer. Well, the smell really.

It was now 6:30 a.m. He took it in himself to make a grocery list since he did tell his father that’s what he was going to do, to begin with, might as stick to his word. His father had left his spare credit card to Dean to care for things around the house, food, Sammy, always take care of Sam, that's number one above anything else. Sam woke up by seven, his hair a shaggy mess than it usually was and sleep clothes baggy on his thin, growing body. Dean took notice that the kid was starting to get some more height, couple inches it seemed compared to the night before.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean spoke softly and grinned brightly to his little brother, his pride and joy.

“Dean.” Sam pouted out his greeting, his squinting eyes visibly tired and aching for more rest. Sam rubbed his face down with his palms and then stretched his arms up by trailing his hands through his hair, causing it to stick up in new, different directions causing Dean to snicker lightly.

“What?” Sammy grumped and glared tiredly.

“Your hair.” Dean tousled Sam’s hair, earning a groan from his younger brother, “We don't have anything to eat here so go ahead and get dress, bud, we’re gonna check out someplace to eat and then grocery shop.”

“M’kay” Sam hummed, Dean smiled fondly as Sam trudged back up the stairs.

 

 

“What about that?” Sam questioned his brother as the walked on the sun-aged, concrete sidewalk.

Dean looked at the old sign Sam's gaze led him, _Harvelle’s Roadhouse And Diner_ was in slanted dim red Legault font, under the sun the neon lights of the letters looked aged and faded, and below that he noticed a sign, “ _**HELP WANTED:** must not look like Lord Farquaad _ ”. Dean found amusement in that

“Yeah, let’s check it out,” Dean answered his brother, they walked up to the cracking steps.

The bell chimed as they both walked in. Then Dean suddenly was hit in the head and a clunk and small tune hit the floor, looking down he saw a bell on the checkered floor. He shook out his hair with his hand, disheveling his hair a bit down towards his face.

“Oh, darlin’ I’m sorry about that,” a woman’s sweet-honey, a southern voice called, she stood behind the bright red bar of the diner, “I told Ash to get longer screws, guess he didn’t listen.” She sighed and made her way towards the boys, wiping her hands on the thigh of her jeans below her apron as she lifted a part of the bar up and crossed over “I’m Ellen.” she greeted and brought her hand towards them, with a warm, genuine smile.

“Dean.” Dean smiled, taking her hand firmly.

“Sam Winchester.” Sam greeted politely, Dean nudged him “ _What_?” Sam yelled an annoyed whisper to his older brother.

Ellen chuckled at their small sibling bickering, “You boys hungry?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they answered in unison, they looked at each other with playful, annoyed glares. Sam rolled his eyes at Dean sticking his tongue out as a tease, causing another chuckle of admiration to come from Ellen.

“I admire your manners, but please call me Ellen.” she smiled at them, she slid menus to them as she wrapped her way around to the opposite side of the bar, “Anything to drink?”

“Thank you.” Sam grinned, “and orange juice, please.” Dean smiled admiringly and full of pride to his younger brother, earning another aggravated, lowered“ _what”_ from Sam again.

“Nothin’” Dean teased with a smile, poking Sam in the side, who huffed at his antics “Same for me, please,” Dean answered as he turned back in attention to Ellen, smiling that million dollar smile.

“Be right up then.” Ellen chuckled as she went behind the door to the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Dean answered after her

As they read the menu Dean and Sam poked each other's sides and shoved each other's shoulders at the bar. Dean earned a giggle at one time from his brother, who then kicked Dean’s shin for teasing him about it and huffed at him to “Lay off.” earning Dean to laugh at Sam’s threatening posture and scowl. Oh, little brother, you can't be mad forever. he had replied and tickled Sam again who laughed and yelled for Dean to stop.

The door thumped shut quietly, Dean turned to look behind him, seeing a boy with an old Polaroid camera and a heavy case that he lugged around in his left hand.

Before Dean could register what the guy was doing, or even looked like, the camera kid went through the kitchen door. Dean listened to the clink of dishes and muffled voices. He heard Ellen mentioning that the Ash person would be around soon for their shift, then he heard a huffed, impatient sigh from another person, Dean assumed it was _Camera Kid_.

Ellen came through the door with glasses of orange juice for the boys and smiled, “Ready to order?”

Dean looked at Sam, who looked at him in approved agreement, “Yes, ma’- Ellen,” Dean nodded politely, Sam nudged him, catching that Dean almost called Ellen ma’am. Dean nudged him back with a grin.

“I’ll have the spinach-zucchini quiche, side of grits” Sam answered

“Hippie,” Dean teased “Apple pancakes for me," Sam poked his side, causing Dean to tens and flinch, "side of bacon, eggs over medium.” he continued through a smile to Ellen, who wrote the order, took the menus and smiled with her leave. Dean heard her yell the order to someone named Joe.

Camera Kid came from the kitchen and set the case on the edge of the bar, the polaroid hanging off his neck by a strap now and in a hand, as he fiddled with his shoe, trying to push his foot back in. His face in an aggravated scowl and dark hair disheveled even more before he went in.

“What model?” Dean heard Sam ask

Camera Kid looked up to the voice, spotting Dean and Sam and looking at them quizzically, eyebrows still furrowed, “Pardon?” he questioned them, throwing a hand over his hair as he stood straighter. Dean had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from sniggering at the mannerism of the word and the gruffness of the boy's voice, not to mention the nest of waves on the guys head.

“The camera,” Sam stated “what model?”

"Oh," Camera Kid cleared his throat and straightened himself up more into an honored posture “It’s an SX-70,”

“Those the types that close up and lay flat?” Sam asked, voice curious, but Dean knew that Sam knew what the camera did, Sam just wanted to seem more intelligent than he looked, Dean smirked at that thought, the thought that Sam knew he was smart.

“Yes, they were made in the ’70s, 1972 I believe, and were the first instant film cameras by Polaroid,” he explained

“Cool,” Sam said in awe, Dean knew that was genuine by the tone “What pictures have you taken with it?”

“None,” he started an explanation, his voice low “My cousin jammed the film in before I could manage to use it, I'm waiting for my...” pause in thought “friend to look at it, he’s really technical,” he uttered, Dean called bullshit to himself.

“I could take a look at it.” Dean suddenly voiced out, he paused and furrowed his eyes downward at himself, looking at his knee. _What the hell? Did I say that?_  He looked back up to the Camera Kid.

“It’s fine, I’ll wait for Ash,” he muttered in response, fiddling with the camera’s strap nervously under Dean's gaze, keeping his head down shyly. _The kid is awkward_.

“Nah, lemme see what I can figure out.” Dean smiled and shrugged

“You don’t have any of the proper tools,” he argued

Dean dug into his pockets, digging out four different pocket knives that had numerous tools in the crevices, “I think I can manage, trust me.” Dean smiled a million dollar smile, trying to gain the boy's trust with it. A smile like that could have a blind man buy a car.

Camera Kid looked at Dean skeptically, “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, man” Dean answered, “I’m pretty handsy.”

“Dean, it’s handy.” Sam laughed at his brother

“Right,” Dean blushed lightly, and swallowed down the embarrassment “My bad, anyway lemme take a look and see what I can do,” he said trying to distract from his fumbled wording.

“Thank you.” Camera Kid expressed a sigh of gratitude.

“Don’t thank me yet, I haven’t even started yet.” Dean pestered a teasing tone.

“Don’t break it.” Sam encouraged sarcastically.

“Don’t jinx me,” Dean complained in the same tone as he fiddled with the tool of the pocket knife, he dug into the camera where the film came out and then grabbed another tool and managed to wiggle them around trying to pry it out.

The camera whirred and clicked, then started to make a loud screech. Camera Kid cringed at the noise, Dean wasn't sure if it was in concern or just the noise itself.

Dean scrunched up his nose, his brows furrowed in concentration. He wiggled the tools more, he huffed and prodded. Suddenly, the light flashed on the camera and the camera whirred again and clicked twice.

Two pages of the film came out. One with a picture of Camera Kid, he looked aggravated and seemed to be yelling through the film at someone, probably the one who took the picture of him. Half of the scene was covered by a finger somehow and the picture was blurred from movement.

The second was of Dean's eyes. Green and speckled, his brows furrowed in concentration, his freckles shining back against the flash or the light. Every single pore on his face visible and indented into a soft glow of his sun-kissed, tanned skin.

Dean looked over at the boy, his vision a bit deflated and splotchy from the light, “Here,” Dean mumbled, handing the camera over gently, “Test it out and see if it works.”

The Camera Kid furrowed his brows and his throat rippled and he fumbled with the strap to get it around his neck. The kid looked up at Sam and Dean.

“Smile?” He asked quietly, a small quirk in his lip, ducking into the camera to look into the window and pressed the button before either could register what he said. Dean blinked after the flash came through, spots of blue-green-black splattered across his vision.

“Woah, a little more warning next time.” Dean huffed a laugh and rubbed his watering eyes.

“My apologies,” Camera Kid answered sincerely, “Thank you, for fixing the camera.” he handed the film to Dean, “It’s a nice photo, shows you in your true moments,” he answered coyly.

Dean politely took it and looked at the confused puppy-look Sam had in the picture and snickered.

“What?” Sam blurted in curiosity, trying to get a look behind Dean's shoulder.

“Your face.” Dean sniggered, “Thanks…” Dean looked toward the Camera Kid, seeing he had left, “Oh…?”

“Where’d he go?” Sam asked in awe looking around then back to Dean.

“I haven’t the slightest idea-” Dean started

“Orders for the two cuties.” Ellen popped out of the door, tray balanced on the palm of her hand and smiled at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is this Camera Kid and why is he so mysterious? (Also don't do what Dean did to the Camera. Bad News)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: small panic attack

Under Pressure - Queen/David Bowie 

**“Pray Tomorrow Gets Me Higher”**

Dean couldn’t get the Camera Kid out of his head the rest of the day. The awkward posture the kid held. A stiff, straight, strong posture that radiated power, a voice that held a softness of wisdom and curiosity all in one, but the gruffness of a man who was quizzical and angered easily. Eyes covered in furrowed brows of concentration and wonder, the eyes were the most intense part of the guy. Dean never noticed the color of them, that’s the one thing that bothered him, were they deep brown? Green? Blue? Hazel? Shit, even red? Doubtful, that'd be the first thing Dean notice besides the gawkiness of the guy.

Dean barely scanned the nutrition label on the soup can he was holding, he never read them anyway, he was just distracted in his thoughts so he paused his steps and pretended to read it. He also noticed the way the kid carried himself as he walked, a slight glide to his foot and the same quiet politeness and the small creases below his eyes. His eyes. What color were his eyes? Dammit. Dean was so distracted by his thoughts he barely had time to register that someone was speaking to him.

He finally turned and looked, seeing a mass of dark, brown, messy haired, blue-eyed boy in his vision. He dropped the soup can he had in his hand, it sounded a sharp clunk. He huffed and dive to scramble for it clumsily as it rolled everywhere from him.

“Uh,” He awkwardly reached for his hand with the that held the can for a handshake. Why? It was an instant reaction to cover his flustered self, he quickly switched hands wiping his free hand on his jeans and switching the can over to his less dominant hand.

“Hi.” Dean huffed quickly as if he were holding his breath.

“Hello, Dean.” Camera Kid answered, a coy smile across his lips, he took Dean’s hand gently and firmly, “I was saying that can of soup has no hint of nutrition and that I wish to thank you for fixing my camera again.”

“ _Blue,_ ” Dean answered softly, inaudible, chewing his gum and playing off a small smile.

“Pardon me?”

“Noth-Nothin’,” Dean quickly covered, “Just talkin’ to myself is all, uh…” he bit his bottom lip, annoyed at his accented drawl coming out as he spoke and rolled his jaw up to chomp on his gum tensely.

“Castiel Novak.” the kid finally answered, glancing down “You can let go of my hand now.”

“Oh!” Dean flinched and let go of Castiel's hand, “Sorry…” he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Apology accepted,” Castiel smiled genuinely, “Do you need help with anything?

“Uh,” Dean looked away from Castiel's smile, then around the grocery store, then back to Castiel “No actually, why ya work here?”

“I help around,” Castiel answered, thumb fiddling with the pocket of his blue vest as he stared at Dean.

“Ah.” Dean tugged at the collar of his t-shirt.

Quiet.

Pause.

Silence.

Crickets.

Zzz.

Wow.

_Say something!_

“So…” Dean continued, tensing his shoulders wider, he popped a small bubble between his teeth.

“Pardon the awkwardness, but” Castiel suddenly spoke out, his throat rippled as he swallowed and cleared it “I uh- I’m wondering if I could- Get your number so we could… hang out...sometime?”

“Oh.” Dean sighed

“Oh?” Castiel stared

“Sure, Cas.” Dean quickly dug into his pocket searching for his phone.

“Cas?” Castiel questioned, looking at Dean quizzically with his eyebrows furrowed and head tilted.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean fumbled with the lock screen, “New nickname for ya.”

“Castiel isn't a nickname,” Cas stated, tone serious.

“Prefer me callin’ ya, Cassie?” Dean commented in a snide, his heart slightly aching at the thought of his former girl, “Because that's my ex's name and no thanks.” he said pushing it off as if it didn't hurt.

“Please don't, Gabriel calls me that.” Castiel sighed typed his number on Dean's phone.

“Gabriel?”

“The cousin who jammed my camera earlier.” Castiel sighed,

Dean grinned, “Younger?”

“Older, he's 23,” Castiel rolled his eyes sarcastically,  “just wish he'd act like it.”

Dean whistled lowly, “Hate him?”

“'Course not, he's just agitating, breaks things.” Castiel smiled and handed Dean his phone back. Dean grinned lightly and took it. “I’ll leave you to your shopping now. Goodbye, Dean.”

“Uh, yeah” pop “See ya, Cas.” Dean fumbled his speech over his cinnamon gum almost spitting it out on the ground. Cas chuckled lightly and walked away. Dean watched the sway of his walk as he left the aisle.

“Nice going.”

Dean turned and saw Sam sniggering and holding a basket full of groceries, they weighed him down to where he was carrying the basket with both arms, leaning the weight onto his hip.

“Shudup.” Dean huffed, he reached for the basket, “Here, gimme that.” he lifted in from Sam’s grasp and the weight of it guided his arm down “Damn, Sammy, you a strong little twerp.” Dean grinned.

“Sam.” Sam bitch-faced his brother, ignoring the insult because his name was more important for correction.

“Whatever, let’s finish this list and skedaddle kiddo.” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair, the younger Winchester huffed and combed his fingers through his hair to fix it in place again.

 

John came around that night, nearly breaking the door off its hinges as he held the knob tightly to balance his weight and left the key in the front lock and door open as he stumbled up the stair.

“Dean.” he barked out, barely getting up three steps

Dean sat up on his bed, Sam looked cautiously up at Dean from the floor where he was laying on his stomach, legs crossed in the air as he read from a thick textbook on anatomy.

“Sir?” Dean called cautiously, the words barely making it out of his throat, he snapped his fingers to Sam and pointed to the window behind as he stood from the creaking bed. Sam quickly busied himself with the latch as Dean walked to the stairs on edge for a possible attack.

“Help m’ yup,” John mumbled.

Dean swallowed and stepped down to his father, he wrapped the older man’s arm around his shoulder and lugged up the weight of him with the ease he could muster and lead his father to his room and guided the man to his bed.

John’s weight bounced as he landed on the bed, he huffed and groaned incoherent words to Dean, Dean nodded and agreed with an _mhm_ and _yup_ in answer each time his father mumbled. Dean laid his father on his side and reached for the small trash bin that was below his father’s side table, setting it closer to the man’s reach if he ever needed it.

“Ya ever think about yer mom, Dean?” John mumbled tiredly

Dean stared at his father, his shoulders tensed to the question and he felt the air in his lungs leave, he cleared his throat, “Yes, sir,” he swallowed, “All the time.”

“I saw a girl today,” John moved his head to look up at Dean, “Looked so much like her, with the blonde hair and bright blue eyes...”

Dean nodded, he’s not sure why he did, he felt that it would, in a sort, comfort his father.

“You look like her too at times.” John sighed, “Especially when you look at Sammy.”

Dean lifted an eyebrow at that.

“She used to look at y’ all the same way, that protective… adoration,” John laughed lightly, “Even me at times…” he trailed off, “You especially look like her when you’re angry, your eyebrows do that thing...” John poked Dean in between his eyes, Dean furrowed his brows comically at his father, “That crease…” he looked into his father’s eyes, then lowered them, “Her smile used to brighten a room…”

 _Yeah used to_ , Dean emphasized internally.

“You definitely have that to ya,” John said sadly, “Sam has mine, it’s cocky.” Dean huffed a small, sad laugh at that, shoulders relaxing. He looked at his father, who was now staring at the ceiling tiredly, a sad smile on his features.

“I miss her, Dean,” John answered quietly, his voice slightly breaking.

 _I do too, Dad_ , Dean wanted to tell his father, he wanted to scream in cry it out to him, desperate for the release of his true emotion, but Dean decided to stay quiet and watch over his father until he fell asleep.

When John managed his cool down to a night of deep, drunken sleep, Dean decided to go check on Sammy. As he walked down the hall he noticed a heaviness in his chest, an ache right at the bottom of his heart and felt… dread. His vision started to cloud into black smoke, it surrounded and gripped his throat. his chest heaved with panicked breaths. _No. Not again_. He prayed to himself, he heard deep, loud, ferocious growls and barks in the back of his head. _I won’t have this_. He swallowed, feeling the sudden anger pry into his chest as he walked in a stumble to Sam’s room on the creaking, wood board floors.

“Dean?”

Dean turned around, eyes wide and chest going wild, “Sammy?”

“You okay?” Sam asked he stood in the doorway of Dean’s room, his brows low in concern. He leaned a hand against the door frame.

Dean’s throat rippled as he swallowed, “Yeah...yeah- I’m okay,” he breathed out finally, “You just spooked me.”

Sam gave him a bitch-face, he hummed his suspicion at his brother, but let it go. Winchester way.

“Get some sleep, Sammy.” Dean smiled at his brother as he walked over to pass Sam to get to his own room.

As they were about to pass each other Sam put his arms around Dean’s waist and gave a slight squeeze, resting his cheek to Dean’s chest and sighed. Dean smiled lightly and held the back of Sam’s head and almost seemed to cradle him, his arms bunched up Sam’s shirt as he rested his chin on his younger brother’s head and pulled him closer. _Damn this kid is getting tall_. He sighed contently.

“I’m fine, Sammy,” he whispered, “I promise.”

Sam sighed, a sign of giving in, Dean relaxed at that “Okay,” Sam sighed out gave a final squeeze and let go, “Night, Dean”

“Night, Sammy,” Dean called from his doorway, he swallowed.

“It’s, Sam.” huffed Sam and turned to Dean and gave him a look that said: _Stop._

“‘Kay, Bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam smiled and turned back to his bedroom door.

Dean made sure to stay in place until Sam closed the door behind him. He slowly trudged into his own room, the curtains barely moving as a drafting wind entered through the opened window. He had almost forgotten he had told Sam to open it just in case things went south tonight. He slowly changed into more comfortable attire and sat on the edge of the bed, his weight pushing it down slightly, making it creak. He rubbed both his hands down his face slowly and leaned over on his knees by his elbows and covered his mouth with a hand. He huffed a low, long sigh. A sigh that needed more air to fully release all the tension in his body. He didn’t try for another one through, just decided to breathe in deep breaths through his nose. He felt a sob try to build up, but he kept it down. He didn't feel like getting through those emotions tonight so he trailed around into his head. A rough terrain of shit.

He was alone with his thoughts. Again.


	4. Chapter 4

Lyin’ Eyes - Eagles

**“No Way To Hide Your Lyin’ Eyes”**

_The drying, gray field grass, wheat, was waving in the wind, the wind whistled and howled past Dean’s ears, dark clouds surrounded around the earth around him. Whispers in the wind past down his spine in chills and goosebumps. He shivered from the chilling voices rather than the coiling wind. Behind him, a growling, feral, storm quaked the earth and sky into a rhythm beneath his feet and through his bones, he felt the bass of thunder ripple through his ribs, stuttering his heart with each thrum._

_"Dean.” called hollowed, sweet whisper, it sounded endearing and broken. He turned and swallowed, throat rippling with force to clear his lodged throat, His throat felt heavy, like rocks and dry with gravel. His bleary eyes scanned around before it settles onto being focused on the figure of the woman in the tattered nightgown, who stood underneath the tall oak, branches gnarled, twisted and sharp, hanging low and enclosing them both into a canopy. It was like a basket made to trap them both in, a cage made of twisted branches and limbs._

_“Please,” he whispered to her, “Please, don’t,” Her now white hair blew in the wind that passed through the gaps on the trees, her hair hiding her face, as she looked at him with a sullen expression, full of somber hate and flooding admiration. “Don’t,” he whispered angrily to her, begging, pleading to her. His heart ached and he felt his lip quiver. He tightened his fist. He looked up to her desperate._

_“I love you, Dean.” she smiled, standing onto a bucket and putting the rotting rope around her neck._

_“No, plea-please.” Dean stuttered out and he tried to run over to her._

_T_ _hunder._

_Lightning._

_Fire._

_All of it surrounded them._

_He felt the burning, the electricity, felt that pulsing bass, as well as the snap of his own neck as if he were the one to hang from that tree._

_The thunder roar deeply-_

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

 

Dean’s eyes shot open, he took in a sharp, deep breathe, a coat of thick sweat coating his shaking body. He shook and shivered his heart rapidly racing, his body still buzzing from the dream, phantom pains coursing through his veins and muscles. He looked to the side of him and turned off the blaring alarm clock quickly. He slowly sat up and put his hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat pace. He breathed in slowly the crisp morning air, allowing it to fill his lungs as he tried to calm himself. His vision became blurry and he rubbed his tired eyes, feeling a warm wetness coat his fingertips. He was… crying?

He wiped his eyes furiously and got up from his bed and charged for the bathroom, ignoring that nagging pull in his chest as best as he could from the bubbling emotions that wanted to boil over the pot. He closed the bathroom door, not caring if it clicked too loud or not or if maybe he closed it too loud, to begin with. He turned on the orange-tinged light and looked at himself in the chipping mirror, an angry scowl on his face. He looked like he had aged ten years overnight. No, scratch that, he's aged thirty just from the dream alone. He could still feel the buzzing of lightning in his nerves.

“You need to get over it.” He said sternly to himself, “It’s been too long,” he sighed and hung his head, “I’m tired.” he shook his head.

“I'm very, very, very, _very_ tired.” he continued and looked up into his green eyes that were accented with dark circles under them and hollow cheeks. He frowned and furrowed his brow at himself, not taking a liking to the way his face showed his weakness at the moment he stood there, angry, vulnerable and broken - a completely open book, but only to himself, but still he despised it.

“Don’t look at me like that, last time someone looked at me like that didn’t end up so well,” his reflection smirked, eyes black and head tilted forward stance threatening. Dean flinched from his reflection and stood back, but his reflection didn’t move from it’s threatening stance and cocky, snarling smirk, “You did this Dean-O-Baby, you did this and you hurt Sammy-Boy that day too, didn’t you?” he sneered and seemed to stare with a leer over at Dean.

Dean remained silent and stared at his black-eyed self, his throat clicking as he swallowed.

“Didn’t you?” black eyes gleamed and a smirk grew wicked.

“Ye-Yes,” Dean whispered and hung his head in shame.

“You going to cry?” his dark-eyed taunted,

“No.” Dean snarled back

“Show what a little bitch you are? What a coward!?” his voice was seething, he hissed out "Look at me! You fucking bitch!"

Dean looked up at his reflection, eyes full of fury, he shook not in anxiety, but anger.

His reflection rippled like water, gray and smokey in the silver of the mirror, his black eyes, gone, snarling smirk, gone. He was left alone with himself again.

He sighed and glared a challenge to himself and only himself. Turning the faucet to the highest of heat to scalding water, he rinsed his hands, keeping them under the scalding water, his skin turning a bright red. He gritted his teeth to keep a whine that tried to breach through his lips, steam began to fill the mirror, coating it into a cloudy heat of fog. He stayed motionless there until the water ran cold and his vision became clearer, his brain waking him up more from the stimulation of heat then freezing, his fingers going numb. He blinked and turned the faucet off with shaking hands. A few welts had formed on his knuckles. He made his hands into a fist, feeling a slight burning tingle go through them. He sighed to himself and took in a deep breath. Better than what he used to do, he'd admit to himself.

“It's just another side effect.” Dean said to himself, this time out loud, “Just call the doc and he'll help.” He sighed out a mock, leaning against the counter, hands on the edge. _You're not going to,_ his brain said in an answer to himself, _you rather deal with this alone._ A knock to the door startled him. Dean felt a rumble in his chest, he held a hand over his thrumming chest, he heard the beat of his heart in his ears.

“Dean?” Sam rasped out tiredly and tapped the other side of the door quietly.

Dean took a deep breath and opened the door, the knob squeaking and hinges creaking. He looked down to Sam.

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What?” Dean barked as if he were a child being caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

“You’re sweating.” Sam cringed in concern

Dean huffed, annoyed, but kept a comical attitude with it “And you got bed head.” he ruffled Sam’s head and pushed his way past the doorway, allowing Sam to handle his business. He kind of hoped Sam hadn't noticed how hot his hands were when he ruffled Sam's hair if Sam noticed he didn't say anything or care if Sam did he was too tired to focus on with an interrogation onto Dean.

Dean went to his room and shut the window, the smell of aged tar filling the room quickly, “Nevermind,” he muttered, his nose scrunching up, opened it back up, propping it open with a tissue box before it slid down. He laid on his bed, staring out the window, hoping to hear the thunder outside as he smelled rain blowing in. He hoped it would clean the earth. Clean it of smoke.

He always seemed to be stuck in smoke.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey Brother - Avicii

**"For You, There's Nothing In This World I Wouldn't Do."**

“Hey, Dean?” Sam called for his brother from the kitchen

“Sup, bud?” Dean called back in the same tone, busying himself with sweeping the wooden flooring, pushing the dirt down the stairs, because fuck bending down to pick that shit up each time.

“I need help…” Sam’s voice was a low, annoyed, quiet mumble

Dean fixed the broom to lean against the wall by the stairs as he trudged down them, the creak of the boards making a popping sound from his weight.

He turned to walked to the back of the house to the kitchen where his brother's voice had traveled, he chuckled at what he saw his “Sammy, what did you do?” He grinned and laughed.

Sam sighed hanging from the cabinet door, head down as if shamed, his belt had managed to get caught off the handle and he was dangling at an odd angle that kept him from being able to lift himself off.

Dean inhaled sharply holding his aching side, “Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dean tutted, “What are we gonna do with you, kiddo?”

“Just help me down.” Sam huffed, annoyed and embarrassed, a light blush coating his cheeks.

“Please.” Dean snickered

“Please.” Sam huffed out and sighed.

“As you wish, good sir!” Dean exclaimed in a terrible Britsh accent, unhooking Sam from the handle and he lifted him, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Sam huffed as Dean set him down

“How in the hell did you manage that?” Dean chuckled

“I fell,” Sam mumbled as he swept dust off the thighs of his jeans.

“Okay?” Dean continued “And?”

“I was dusting out the cabinets, that's all.” Sam huffed, waving his dust-covered hands

Dean grinned at Sam and ruffled his fringey hair.

“Dean!” Sam growled, patting his hair back down, getting dust all on his head, “Jerk!”

“Bitch.” he snickered as he ran out of the kitchen when Sam grabbed a spatula, he managed his way out of the kitchen from his little brother, grabbing a towel that he swatted with at Sammy as he ran.

He manages two steps up the stairs before he suddenly stopped, holding his chest, vision going dark, but it wasn't a head rush type of blackout- no it was something in him that made him this way. He fell against the wall of the stairway, leaning his weight against it.

“ _Dean_.”

Dean started grabbing at his collar and holding his chest, breathing and heart increasing, he felt hands on his wrist, “N-No-No, don't!” He gasped as he felt a grip on his throat, hands sweating as he gasped in breaths and started to shake erratically. “Keep off!” He yelled what he could muster through his trembling lips.

_"Dean?"_

He heard the deep howls and growls of rabid dogs, long, hollow, and chilling. Chilling him to the core of his bones and heart, his very mind scrambling for a grip to reality. Smoke was forming into his vision in wisps of grey and red, bright flashes of lightning and fire surrounded him, claws and teeth digging into his skin. He cried out in pain from the burning and biting sensations coursing through his veins.

“ _Dean, move your hands and just breathe_!”

He felt a grip move from his throat. His vision started to clear and he looked to his left meeting soft, concerned, hazel eyes, full of concern and fear, Sam's hands were gripped tightly and his knuckles were white around Dean's.

“Sammy,” Dean's voice ached

“You were choking yourself through your panic attack.” Sam answered, his voice bubbling out breaking emotions, fear was the main one, “What did you see this time? Where's your medicine?” Sam yelled frantically gripping at Dean's sleeves now in desperation, tears welling up in his eyes.

“One answer-question at a time,” Dean huffed sadly and in agitation, he swallowed his throat rippling harshing from the dryness and from the pressure he had held on tightly to it from earlier. “Please,” he looked at Sammy, instantly regretting it as he saw a tear trail down Sam's cheek. _Fuck_.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked suddenly, sitting up quickly nearly knocking Sam off him as checked Sam's face and arms for any welts and bruises that he may have caused. Guilt carrying low in his gut and surround his heart. _Fuck_.

“Dean, no.” Sam pushed his brother's hands away, Dean started to lift Sam's sleeves “Stop," He desperately pushed them away again as Dean reached to check for marks again, "Stop worrying about me and worry about you.” Sam huffed and hugged him tightly, squeezing the air from Dean.

“Relax.”

Dean gripped his brother tightly and hid his face into the tufts of hair, they tickled his nose and smelled of the cheap, generic, dollar store, dandruff shampoo, he blinked slowly, getting back his surroundings.

“It's okay Dean, stop shaking, it's okay.” Sam whispered assuringly, “I'm here. I'm safe. You are too. It's okay. We're safe. We're not hurt.”

Dean nodded and gripped Sam closer and sniffed deeply. Breathing in Sam's smell, it was the one thing that was going to ground him at that moment, the one thing that was a reality and wasn't a dream or hallucination in Dean's head. Sam.

Sam looked up at Dean, concerned calmness across his features now, eyes dry and serious, “Wanna talk about it?”

“I'm okay,” Dean answered, a slight smile across his broken features.

“I don't believe that but okay,” Sam said and leaned back into his brothers embrace, “You don't have to talk now, just relax.”

“I’m the one that’s supposed to comfort you,” Dean argued lightheartedly, tears flowing down now “I’m the big brother, I’m supposed to be the strong one.”

“You are the strong one,” Sam argued and looked up into Dean's eyes, “You’ll always be and you’ll always be my big brother.

“Thanks, Sammy,” he whispered, voice breaking more into raw emotion with each word.

“Thanks, _Sam_.” huffed the younger who chuckled and hugged his brother tighter before letting go. Dean ached in his chest, his senses buzzing, tingling and coursing through his veins. He rose suddenly and grabbed for an old vase. His breathing heaved acid and bile filled his chest and throat.

Sam put a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder, cradling it to soothe Dean from feeling alone and to calm him, “It's okay, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean whispered, “I know,” he repeated to himself, spitting into the vase and inhaled deeply.

“I love you.” Sam leaned his head against Dean's shoulder, his hands holding onto shoulders as a way of hugging and clinging to his brother.

“I love you too,” Dean whispered in a small voice, it's what he felt, small. He reached to his shoulder to hold Sam's hand have flat to his shoulder. “Sammy I'm so sorry you have to go through this, it's not fair to you, I'm the one who takes care of you-.”

“I like taking care of you, Dean,” Sam answered, interrupting Dean's whirling mind, “I’m giving you back what all you do for me, it's okay.”

“Not to me,” Dean answered softly.

 

Sam sat in the old, shedding leather chair by the window, reading over a book of astrophysics. He glanced up to look at Dean, over the leaves of the book, who laid up on his side, brows furrowed in his sleep. Sam sighed and set the textbook to the side table, nearly knocking over the rickety lamp at the side, he quickly grabbed it as it tottered. He anxiously clenched his teeth and looked to his brother.

Dean was still asleep. Sam leaned back in his chair and stared him down as he did so. He sighed sadly. Sam was really concerned about Dean. He worried and worries. The panic attacks were getting better, but they still exhausted Dean. Sam wondered if Dean had been having those dreams again. Mrs. Singer, Bobby's wife, had said it was probably from traumatic events, she was a counselor at the school, but Sam had no idea what could've happened for Dean to become like this. Dean didn't talk about that sort of Dean, so Sam didn't either.

Sure, John had a few rounds on his brother a few times. Scratch that. A lot, if Sam's being honest with himself, but that's just how it's always been. Probably always will be.

Sam shivered from the draft in the window, it was raining and foggy, he looked over to the grandfather style clock that hung over the couch Dean was asleep on. It was barely eleven o'clock.

Dean twitched in his sleep, brows furrowing then softening. Sam leaned up and sat straighter in the chair, he heard Dean groan in his sleep and whisper a barely audible “ _No_.”

Sam went to the kitchen and looked in the pantry for the bucket. He walked back and set in beside the couch.

“No!” Dean yelled suddenly and threw off the blanket that was over him, making Sam jump out of his skin, chills running up his spine, hairs on his body up on ends. Dean huffed and practically growled as he thrashed his arms, knocking over a throw pillow.

Sam sat in the loveseat that was closest to Dean and watched over him, protectiveness taking over his blood. He knew not to touch Dean while he was having a terror, he'd learned that the hard way after Dean had hit him, while Dean was nearly in the process of a heart attack on top of the panic attack in his dreams once.

“Please,” Dean begged, voice raw with emotion. He was hurting, Sam wanted to cry and reach for him but knew better than to do so.

Sam wanted to take this all away so badly, his heart broke every time Dean had these episodes. He went to the floor on his knees, clasped his hands tightly, knuckles practically white and prayed as Dean had taught them when they were young.

Dean doesn't pray anymore. Sam knows this, but Sam kept his faith even if his brother didn't. Sam doesn't even think his father ever had faith, but Dean told Sam that their mother, Mary, had faith and had told them angels were watching over them.

Sam had to have this faith. Because if he didn't, who or what was going to actually help Dean through this, from _himself_. Sam whispered inaudibly to himself, words muttering over his lips.

“Send us angels, God,” Sam said out loud looked up to the ceiling, “Dean doesn't know it but he needs you.” he looked to his brother, who was now still.

He hung his head again resting his head on his clasped hands, “And so do I.” he whispered, “We need you.” He looked up at the ceiling again. “Amen.” He said in a pleading, broken voice.

The door suddenly clicked shut bringing Sam away from his thoughts as he turned to look who came in.

“Dad-”

“What happened,” John asked, dropping his work belt with a heavy thud.

“He had-” Sam swallowed, “He had a panic attack and is going through a bad dream.” his voice stern, but to him, he sounded small, he felt small beneath John's gaze too, but he tried to cover it by puffing his chest out and standing straighter.

“Has he been taking his medicine?” John asked his voice still low, but softer than when he came in.

“I think so,” Sam answered without hesitation.

“Did he hurt you?” John interrogated

“No, sir.” 

“You okay?” John asked softer, drawl coming out thick, concern on his features.

“Yeah?” Sam answered, looking quizzically at his father.

John went over and covered Dean with the blanket that was kicked to the floor. He sighed and sat beside Dean and scanned over Dean's taunted features.

“Dad,” Sam trailed, wondering if he should continue as John looked up to him, eyes full of sadness, “Are  _you_ okay?”

“Yeah,” John sighed, looking down at his knuckles, picking at the dirt under his thumbs “I'm okay.”

“Okay,” Sam said softly, trailing to sit on the loveseat.

“C'mere, Sammy.” John interrupted Sam's walking, now patting the seat beside him.

Sam listened and made his way over tentatively. He held still, but every fiber and hair jumped out of his skin as John put an arm around him and gave him a firm squeeze, very rare from his father.

“I know I don't tell y' all much but,” John swallowed, “I love you, boys.” John held Sam closer now, firmer, “And I've done some shitty things to the both of you and I'm so sorry you both had to grow up like this, on the run constantly.”

Sam took in a deep breath and looked up at his father, he felt incredibly small right now, John was above average in size and that intimidated Sam in many ways at the moment, he felt like a child. He was a child, but he had the understanding that he grew way too fast and he knew Dean had grown way faster since the accident and all the other stuff that Dean doesn't want Sam knowing. Sam knew everything, he was smart that way, always figured it out, always a few steps ahead.

“It's time to change,” John answered, “But I'm going to need your help with this, I know I put a lot on your shoulders, but I need it.”

 _More on Dean's shoulders than mine._ Sam wanted to say but refrained as he listened to his father. He felt discomforts and pings fill his chest and lungs as he sat beside his father and he could sense John's tension that he felt the same awkwardness.

Sam took the liberty in himself to rise from the position his father cradled him in, it felt unnatural, John hadn't held him since that night at the hospital when Dean had attacked him in a terror, that was a year ago, he still had a scar from it.

“I'm going to bed,” Sam said walking to pick up his book from the side table he had left it on.

“Alright,” John muttered, putting a hand over his mouth as he rested his elbows on his knees, a motion Dean had carried and a movement Sam knew all too well, a way of coping with stress.

Sam turned to the stairs and took three to four steps before he stopped and to a look down at his father over the railing, John looked up, moving his hand from his chin to look at his son.

“Go easy on him when he wakes up,” Sam muttered lowly,  “He's not as okay as you think.”

With that Sam continued up the stairs slowly, legs shaking with each step. He leads himself down the hall to his room, the floor creaking and softly thumping with each step. He flipped on the light switch by his door and sighed in relief, ridding himself of anxiety, the weight leaving his lungs. Instead, he put that weight into leaning his own weight against the door closing it with a solemn click, the cool surface of the dingy, panel door chilling his spine and shoulders. He slowly slid down the door, letting his weight carry him down into a sitting position, one leg bent up to his chest, hugging it close, looking down at the floor, book beside him on the floor. He wanted to cry, but there were no tears to muster.

Everything was fucked for them boys.


	6. Chapter 6

**Best Of You - Foo Fighters**

_"I Got A Confession To Make"_

Dean stared out of the window of the Impala; graying water dripping down in a race as the engine slightly rumbled and blew in cool AC that was really unnecessary in this weather. The school had weathering red-gray bricks. Students stood and lounged in the front and on the courtyard of the school and chattered even in the sprinkling of the start of rain.

“You boys do good,” John ordered as the boys hopped out. Sam practically slammed it earning a side glance from Dean.

“What?” Sam barked, a solemn, gloomy look on his face, water had started to mat onto his forehead from the drizzle.

“Be careful with Baby.” Dean pouted, sticking his bottom lip out at his brother. Sam huffed and walked to the steps ahead of his brother to avoid embarrassment.

Dean paused and looked around as people stared at the two of them, he heard the rumble of the Impala distant out as John drove away. He brought his jacket tighter around him and put his hands into the pockets and paced himself to catch up to Sam, who was waiting for his brother now, obviously insecure being in a strange place, backpack slung over his shoulder, Dean wish Sam had both straps on, better for his back, but Sam wouldn't listen, Dean didn't do it, why should he?

Dean reminded himself that he forgot his backpack in the Impala. John was already way gone when he looked back. He sighed and walked with Sam to the office, listening to the chatter that surrounded them. Anxiety crept up his spine. Sam took notice and gripped at Dean's jacket in secret as the walked in, it was a habit of reassurance and grounding. A comfort for the both of them.

The front desk lady smiled brightly at them and Dean instantly felt a rush of his tense structure wash away, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

“Hey, Ellen,” He smiled, a bright chuckle across his features “You work here too?”

“I'm substituting for a few couple of months,” she grinned back, brightening Dean's mood instantly “Kelly is on maternity leave.”

“Sounds nice, um” Dean rubbed his neck and lowered his gaze to his hands, fiddling with his thumbnail now.

“We're here to pick up our schedules,” Sam answered for him, smiling lopsidedly.

“Winchester, correct?” Ellen questioned, Sam and Dean each gave a nod in confirmation, she smiled and handed them each yellow sheets.

“Thanks,” Dean smiled shyly at her and took his leave with Sam. She waved after them.

Sam nudged him, “Got a crush on her or something?” He teased.

“Wha-? No, dude!” Dean chuckled defensively.

"Then what are you all flustered for?" Sam asked as if his accusation was correct

“She reminds me of mom.” Dean shrugged underneath his jacket, shoulders tense and defensive.

“Ew,” Sam scrunched up his nose at the accusation he made now, then curiosity crossed his soft features, “What way is she like mom?”

Dean paused a second as the walked, looking down at his brother, “I actually don't know.” he answered.

Sam smiled and nodded, trusting his brother to his word.

 

Classes were a bitch. The students, even more so. Dean cleaned out his hair in the sink, pizza sauce in his hair. It was a complete accident, so Dean didn't take anything that went down personal.

He turned as he heard a knock on the door and sighed as he unlocked it  “Come in.” He huffed

“I can't,” a sarcastic raised voice called back “I don't have the right genitalia.”

Dean huffed and decided to just open the door, he looked down at a bright red-headed girl.

“‘Sup.” She grinned, tilting her head under her bangs a little and awkwardly handing him a t-shirt.

Dean hesitated taking the shirt, “'Sup.”

“Charlie.”

“Dean.”

Dean closed the door at that, maybe a bit too harshly.

He changed out of his clothes and put the shirt on. It read “Orgasm Donor.” Dean muttered a curse under his breath and pulled his jacket over it, of all days to get him in trouble it was today? And over a shirt that wasn't even his, he knew it, he was going to get in trouble, he always did.

He ruffled his now wet hair and opened the door, “Thanks.”

“You're welcome, a little rude, but you're welcome.”

“How am I rude?” Dean asked pointing to himself, “I'm not the one who threw pizza on myself now, am I?”

“Doesn't mean you don't have to slam the door on my face after I give you a shirt in apology.” She crossed her arms, head swiveling with each word.

"Yeah real nice shirt," Dean rolled his eyes,

"Thanks, but drop the attitude."

“ 'Drop the attitude,' _"_ Dean mocked and rolled his eyes, he started to walk off, “and forget my thanks, I'm stealing this shirt now.”

“The hell you are!” She chased after him, hair swishing side to side.

Dean smirked down at her as she caught up to him, he turned, “Wanna hang sometime?”

“I don't play that team.” She huffed, crossing his arms at him.

“What?” Dean glared in confusion, “Oh, no no no, not what I was asking,” he grinned, chuckling out a breath “You're cute, but I got my eye on someone anyway, I was just wondering if you wanted to just chill and talk about Star-Wars.” He said pointing to her t-shirt.

She grinned up at him mischievously, “You have my attention.”

“Friday?”

“Friday.” She answered, “5:30.”

“Deal.” He took out his hand

“Deal.”

They shook, grinning.

“Well see ya,” Charlie said walking away and winking back at Dean. He chuckled and made his way to class.

Maybe this school would have some good.

 

The school was out. The boys walked side by side to Ellen's restaurant. Sam shuffled his bag up higher on his shoulders, putting his hood up. Dean ruffled his own hair with the rainwater. As they walked up on the steps Dean saw a figure go in before them. Castiel.

Dean's heart rate paced faster and he started to feel giddy seeing the boy. Castiel struggled with his umbrella trying to get it closed.

“Hey, Cas.” Sam smiled

Castiel jumped and looked between the two of them, “Hello.” Castiel smiled lightly.

Dean took the umbrella gently from Castiel's hand and shoved the handle in with a snap, the umbrella closing.

“Thank you,” Castiel muttered, taking it back as he stared at Dean impressively.

Dean stood stiffly before walking over to open the door, the bell falling onto the checkered flooring. Dean looked up when he heard a sigh from Ellen.

“You got the tools?” Dean asked with a grin, picking up the bell.

Ellen smiled back, “Hey, Dean,” she looked to Sam and Castiel, “Sam, Cassie.” Castiel groaned at the name and Ellen smiled brighter, “What brings you, boys, here?”

“Just wanted to hang out a while, this place feels peaceful,” Dean answered, "I like it, it's homey."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, “He's hungry, as usual.”

“Hush.” Dean barked, Castiel snickered quietly and chills went down Dean's spine at the sound, “But, anyway, you need me to fix this?”

“It'll just fall again.” A boy from the back of the kitchen came in, setting out pastries into the baked goods window. The boy's hair fluffing down under the heater that he stood under.

“Nice mullet.”

“Business in the front,” he flipped his hair, “party in the back.” He grinned, “Name's Ash.”

“Dean,” he shook Ash's flour-covered hand, he pointed to Sam, “This is Sam.”

Castiel cleared his throat in an interruptive manner and walked closer to Ash, “You get the film today?”

“In the back, in my backpack, next to the laptop.”

“Color?”

“Red one.”

“Thank you.” with that Castiel made his way to the kitchen.

“So, how about them tools?” Dean finally mentioned out, wiping his hand of flour onto his pants.

Ellen motioned for him to follow her to the kitchen, she bent down and open the cabinet doors to reach under a dripping sink for a red and black box, the plastic handle broke from lugging the weight of the tools.

Dean took it from her politely and Ellen smiled and he dug through them.

He decided to start with the dripping sink, he at least paid attention to Bobby enough to know how to fix that after Bobby fixed their sink.

Castiel was tinkering with something in the back, Dean didn't bother with his curiosity, he needed to focus on this, not the strange kid.

 

Ellen set down two slices of pie on the counter as the boys worked on their homework by the bar. Sam slightly shoved his slice with his knuckles toward Dean as he wrote down math problems.

Dean gave Sam help when he needed it, but for the most part, it was just Dean poking and prodding at Sam with his own pencil. Snickering when Sam whined or when his nose twitched in agitation. Ever patient Sam was, so Dean soon gave up with his instigation and began to eat a slice.

It was a Wednesday and the rain outside left a chill through the quiet diner. The windows whistling and pattered as wind and rain went past. It was always raining in this season. Soon it'll be sunny, it was the ache in Dean's elbows that told him it would be.

“Hey, Dean,” Ellen called for attention as she wiped the counter. Dean looked up to her from his homework and looked at her quizzically for her next response.

She smiled, “How do you feel about working here?” she asked, “I mean you’ve already been pretty much workin’ on everything here, but I feel like you at least deserve more than a hundred dollars, so I’m offering.”

“Hundred for what?” Dean laughed lightly, “A leaky faucet and a bell?”

“Hush, you deserve it, you start Monday.”

“I didn’t even say yes.” Dean chuckled, gushing over the offer.

“You don’t get to, you work here now.”

“Ellen, if I do work here, it’ll be temporary.”

“I realize that and I’m okay with that, with school, friends and especially because of your daddy’s situation at home.” Ellen looked over to him in all sincerity.

“My dad’s situation?” Dean mused the tone.

Ellen sighed, draping the rag over her shoulder and apron “I know y’ all probably want to keep it on the low in this town,” she reached for Dean’s hand and held it gently, “But Bobby Singer mentioned how your dad is a little down with being sick and all.”

“Sick?” Dean chided

Ellen’s face switched to disbelief “He hasn’t told you.” she muttered softly, a clear _oh shit_  look on her face.

“Told us what?” Sam chimed up, distracted from his work.

Ellen sighed and grabbed for the towel from her shoulder, “It’s not my business to tell, it’s something you need to talk to your father about.” she answered and went back to wiping the same spot she just cleared.

“So Monday?” Dean amused sadly

“Yes, sir.” Ellen lowered her gaze.

Dean quickly packed up Sam’s papers and his own into Sam’s bag and slung it over his shoulder quickly. Sam quickly followed after him with his pencil and binder in hand, realizing it was time to go.

Not a word was spoken between them as they walked to their old, tar-covered house.


	7. Chapter 7

The Good Part - AJR

**"Can We Skip To The Good Part?"**  

John didn’t come home that night, or the night after. Dean and Sam are now in school and the sun is bright and shining. Dean can’t shake this weight of secrecy his father is keeping off his own shoulders at the moment.

It left Dean worried. He keeps his thoughts running on different scenarios in his head, gears windin’ n’ grindin’. He bounces his leg at his desk until the bell rings for his next classes, always staring out the window, not listening. A few teachers notice him being more distracted than usual and one of them took him to the hall to talk, but he shrugged it off to the guy, explaining it was “Family Business.” Which it was, but he wasn't about to tell anyone John had left them alone without a reason or a phone call.

Dean walks down the hall, looking at the ground or ahead in a daze, he hadn’t realized he walked outside until he felt the sun beaming on his back. He stood by steps of the school, leaning against a rail by his elbows for support and stared at the trees on the campus into his glazed over gaze again. He barely heard the voice behind him calling his name.

“Dean!” Charlie came into vision and he flinched from her sudden voice, “Hey, you okay? I’ve been talking to you for five minutes now.”

“Really?” he cocked a brow up, confused.

“Nah, it was…” she shrugged, quirking her face into her thoughts as she looked at him “Maybe two?”

“Sorry, I got a lot on my mind right now,” he sighed.

“Well in that case…” Charlie grinned and liked her arm with his, “Let’s get you out of that mind because this doesn’t seem like you.”

“We don’t have plans until 5:30.” he mused with a small chuckle

“So?” Charlie mused back, “Let’s go early.”

He smiled down to her beaming face, “First let me drop Sammy off.”

“Sammy?” Charlie quirked an eyebrow at him.

“My little brother,” he answered as he walked to the courtyard of the school, she followed after, hair swishing behind as they walked down the walkway.

Dean moved out of the way of some of his peers, stepping on the crisp, graying grass as Charlie spoke, he managed to put in a few hums in agreement. He was almost completely in his thoughts until he felt a sharp jab in his shoulder, he flinched and glared at a figure.

“Watch it,” growled a low voice with a tilt, that continued to walk past.

“My bad.” Dean huffed aggravatedly, and huffed under his breath “Dick.”

A scuff of shoes silenced, still “Pardon me?” the voice murmured

Dean turned around slowly. _Crap_.

“What?” Dean barked, shuffling his arms in his agitation at the guy.

The guy hummed, peering at Dean with dark eyes, putting his hands into the pockets of his long coat casually, “I would watch your tone,” his voice carried a chilling threat, a smile of charismatic teasing “Person gets get into trouble with an attitude like that.”

Dean’s throat rippled as he swallowed, “Not me.” he grunted out.

The Brit purred a hum again, peering into Dean’s eyes one last time before he turned and walked onto his own direction. Dean relaxed his shoulders, a shiver crossing up and down his spine as he breathed out all the tension.

“Dude. you really shouldn’t have caught an attitude with Crowley.” Charlie said with a  shaken and concerned look across her face, “He’s not the type to mess with.”

Dean shrugged, “I’ll be fine.” he answered, “Just another asshole who thinks he runs the place, I can handle him.” Charlie sighed.

“Just- just keep away from him,” she stuttered out ”He’s really not the type to even talk to,” she said as she hooked her arm around his from the sudden chilly breeze.

Dean huffed and walked with her towards Sam, who sat on a bench, face already in a book. _Nerd_. “Heya, Sammy.” Dean smiled at his brother.

“Who’s this?” Sam asked not looking away from his book.

“This is Char-”

“Name’s Charlie!” she answered putting her hand out to Sam, who flinched from the sudden movement.

Dean shrunk into himself a little from that reaction Sam had, an ache in his chest, the corroding his heart. He covered it with a slight smile.

Sam shook her hand “Nice to meet you.” he smiled

“Okay, so,” Dean trailed off as Sam stood up, “I have plans with Char tonight and” he wrapped his arm around Sam, “I wanted to know if you’re okay being alone tonight at home or if you want to go to-”

“The Diner. Ellen’s.” Sam answered without a beat.

“Okay,” Dean smiled, silently relieved with Sam’s choice, “Let’s go then.”

 

The walk was chattery with Sam and Charlie in front of Dean on the sidewalk, it’s interesting how well they got along so well, most of Dean’s former friends didn’t get why Dean was so hooked on his little brother, his safety, his happiness, seeing if he was alright, but Charlie, Charlie did, and Dean felt his heart lighten a little from that thought. He smiled at them whipping at each other with strings of wheat, laughing.

“Hey, no fair your’s is longer!” Charlie giggled out almost shoving Dean into the ground as she dodged Sam’s blade. Dean chuckled as Sam chased after her to the diner. His mood shifted when he heard a low voice grumbling on the inside of the place, his heart racing.

The door open to the chime of the bell Dean fixed and Dean’s eyes transfixed onto blue. “Heya, Cas.” he gruffed softly.

“Dean,” Cas eyes widened as he stopped a few steps from running into Sam, who stood between the two taller than himself, “Hello.”

“Hi,” Dean stuck his hands into his pockets.

“Hi,” Castiel answered back, rubbing his neck and snaking his way between the group, he turned around facing Dean at a closer “Um, bye.” he murmured, quickly walking off.

Dean turned to follow the direction Castiel went, he watched how Castiel’s tan coat flapped in the light breeze and sun showed the different textures of his hair. He wondered what those eyes looked like in the sun. Did they show specs of green? Brown? Or were they just that deep azure blue through and through? He wondered many things after, like what would happen if he ran after Castiel, walked him home. Wondered if Castiel would invite him in to meet his parents. Dean’s mind rambled on and on, over and over on its own for a while.

 

Charlie laid out across the field grass, wheat tickling her nose, “So,” she chirped

“So?” Dean contorted his face quizzically, eye closed from the afternoon sun as he chewed on a piece of wheat.

“You got a crush.” it wasn’t a question

“Who?” Dean chuckled off

“Castiel,”

Dean sputtered on the blade and spit it from his mouth and cleared his throat, “What makes you say that?” he asked opening his eyes to the sky.

“I mean when you saw him you got all tense-”

“I got tense with that douche Crowley too,”

“A different type of tense, you made yourself look taller in the same way, but you were nervous in a happy way.” Charlie grinned over “With Crowley, you just…” she trailed “You radiated anger, with Castiel, you” she sighed happily, “You just got all flustered.” she grinned “It was cute.”

“Shuddup.” Dean threw grass at her, “I’m straight, he’s just interesting.”

Charlie hummed, “He has that effect on people.”

“Whatever.” Dean grumbled, “Anyway what’s with analyzing my body language?” Dean teased

“Not analyzing, just stating the obvious,” she groaned as she sat up, “Castiel was nervous too, I’ve never seen him like that, he’s normally so…” she paused “Robotic.”

Dean chuckled, “I guess that’s a term you can use, he’s kinda like Spock.”

Charlie laughed.

“Spock-stiel.” Dean laughed, a quirky grin on his features.

“You are blocked.” Charlie whacked his shoulder for emphasis.

“Unblock me.”

“Unblocked.”

“Be my friend?” Dean pouted his lip, leaning closer to Charlier

“Okay.” She whacked him with a blade to the face, “Geez, desperate much?”

“Yay.’ Dean grinned up at the sky, the heated orange across the atmosphere and clouds floating above.

“Days like this are the best,” Charlie answered softly, “The sky goes down into a dark purple-pink, and then finally that twilight blue.”

Dean smiled silently. Thinking about that prophetic twilight blue as Charlie rambled.


	8. Chapter 8

Trees - Twenty One Pilots

**"Silent, In The Trees, Standing Cowardly"**

 

Charlie was right about the sun setting down into that blue being the best. He trudged his way through the woods to the house, the trees leaves whispering in the warming breeze of evening, he felt at peace altogether. Nothing on his mind except blue, but a much calmer, happier blue, not the sad, pent-up-anger blue. Twilight Blue.

The leaves crinkled below his heavy boots, twigs snapping and dirt scuffing up into the air, he breathed in the earth aura of the woods. The bark of the tree, the dirt, the pine needles, the oak leaves and the sandy soil beneath him brought him in a different headset, he had glimpses of the dream pass through his mind but his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of scuffling behind him. He turned quickly, heart racing.

He took a taller stance, broadening his shoulders for a threat, the beat of his heart rushing in his ears, coursing adrenaline in his veins. This was fight or flight. He never expected to see a figure stumble to his feet, he flinched back, brow furrowed.

“Castiel?”

Castiel looked up, eyes wild in fear, blood going down the side of his brow and sweat drenching his hair down to his scalp. Leaves and branch rustled behind the direction Castiel came. Castiel stood and bolted as they came closer. Footsteps.

“Cas!” Dean whispered after him, “Cas,” Dean whispered, walking to Castiel quickly, Castiel gripped tightly to Dean’s jacket to sturdy himself on his feet, Dean held with just as much tension in his hands, “Whoa, whoa, hey I got you, I got you, common,” Dean whispered, helping Castiel trudge with his wobbly legs.

“I just wanted- I just wanted to see the moon.” Castiel rasped out, “Wanted to see it over the field as I stood between the oaks and pines, they came from nowhere.”

“We still can just lemme see if you’re okay, okay?” Dean said leaning to where Castiel could sit down against a rock in the hidden brush, he fumbled to get his phone and turned the screen brightness up to check on Castiel’s bruises and cuts.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean sighed, digging into his pocket “What happened?”

“None of your business.” Castiel snarked, slightly pouting at Dean with a glare. Dean didn't hear the footsteps anymore.

Dean hummed sarcastically at that answer, putting a spare cloth from his pocket to Castiel’s cut, Castiel flinched slightly and glared harder. Dean moved away slowly from the boy’s face, “You can trust me.” Dean reassured.

“I’m not too sure about that.” Castiel snarked, “For all, I know this is a trap.”

“Trap?”

“There are these guys that have been messing with me since forever, used to it.” Castiel shrugged, voice low in a gravel baritone. He didn’t seem to dare to look up at Dean.

“Well let them come around now and we’ll see what happens,” Dean growled back with an attitude

“There’s four.” Castiel groaned out, leaning his head back in pain as he stretched his leg out, sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Handled more than that one time.” Dean huffed, slapping Castiel’s leg slightly,

“Ow!” Castiel growled out, glaring at Dean

“Lemme see.” Dean gruffed, motioning to Castiel’s leg, "And drop the damn attitude,"

Castiel huffed back with the same attitude with his comply. Dean started to lift Castiel’s pant leg, his finger’s soothing over the damp cloth, blood.

“Damn, Cas.” Dean’s voice broke the quiet as he looks over Castiel's leg. Castiel hissed as Dean touched a little over the gash.

“Just a sprain and cut.” He mumbled through gritted teeth, eyes jumping to Dean's, obviously trying to hide the pain.

“Dude, it’s like a sword cut through you.” Dean gawked.

“Had worse.” Castiel chuckled, probably in shock, _or he’s just insane_ ; Dean thought and then shook his head at it.

“C' mon, my house isn’t that far.” Dean grunted as he stood, and readied himself to help Castiel, “I’ll clean you up there, not letting you walk through here, too easy to get an infection.” he said offering his hand to Castiel.

Castiel stared at his hand, then looked up at Dean cautiously.

"C' mon, dude," Dean huffed, "Don't make me Forrest Gump ya."

Castiel huffed, not bothering to argue and took Dean’s hand, who lifted him to a sturdy foot. Castiel groaned lowly and leaned against Dean for support as Dean hooked Castiel’s arm around himself. “I gotcha,” Dean huffed, feeling Castiel’s weight, the kid didn’t look it under those baggy clothes but he was pretty solid.

“I gotcha,” Dean repeated. Castiel mumbled a small  _thanks,_ they trudged and limped through the woods together.

 

 

A few minutes had passed and Castiel had to pause awhile for his leg, the pain in his shin radiating his body into heat.

Dean had set Castiel against a tree and felt a small fever in Castiel’s leg. Dean felt Castiel sigh peacefully. “What?” he gruffed, a little defensively.

“Nothing,” Castiel smiled lightly, looking through a few white oak trees, passed the wheat-filled field and to the deep sky hallowed by small, almost invisible clouds, “Just the moon and stars have never been so bright in that dark blue.”

_This dude is nuts._

“Twilight,” Dean answered sternly as if correcting Castiel, not sure why he said it so strongly or even why he made the comment, but it felt right.

“Twilight,” Castiel whispered, slightly both in awe and agreement, he closed his eyes and sighed again, much deeper and calmer. Dean shrugged

They sat in silence, listening to the woods in the back full of frogs in a pond and the crickets surrounding a pond and creek they had passed earlier and deep in the fields around them.

Dean looked at a faint light past the tall grass, “There’s the house.”

“Yours?” Castiel asked, not even opening his eyes, sweat dripping down his neck.

“Not really, just live there.” Dean laughed to himself shortly, barely able to hear in his tone at the irony of it. The house, like many, was temporary and soon Dean would leave and either forget Castiel or Castiel would forget him, both even, or maybe by then, Dean would take the final action and just _leave_.

“I’m in the same situation.” Castiel let out a held in sigh.

Dean looked over at the boy, who always wore a trench coat and the basic knitted sweater that made him look small, now Dean noticed that Castiel only wore a button down and black trousers. Dean huffed quietly, _prep_.

“We should get there before my fever spreads more.” Castiel groaned lightly as he sat up away from the tree.

“Cas, rest,” Dean said pressing Castiel back against the tree, “Jesus, dude, rest for five minutes.”

“I have, I've had rest plenty,” Castiel growled, glaring at Dean with annoyance.

“Yeah, but I don’t want you putting that weight on that leg so sit and hush it.” Dean barked back with an attitude, "What's with you man?"

Castiel huffed and suddenly was on his feet, well most of his weight on one leg rather than his injured one, holding the tree for balance, “Just help me.” Dean looked up to Castiel, who took a challenging stance but was really in a rush to get there. Dean couldn’t see Castiel’s expression in the dark but the way Castiel’s body shifted and tensed showed Dean that Castiel needed to get home, a movement Dean was so familiar with.

“Fine,” Dean gruffed, grabbing Castiel's arm a little rough to help Castiel through the field to the farmhouse, “Just to get you home,” he mumbled.

“Thank you,” Castiel whispered, eyes looking deep into the field in the distance, the deep hollow stare sent chills down Dean’s spine as the trudge and wobbled to the light of the house and through the moonlight with themselves linked together.

Dean could get lost in those eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

Tequila Sunrise - Eagles

**"This Old World Still Looks The Same"**

 

Dean looked over Castiel as Castiel stood from sitting on the stool, the stool creaked from the lifted weight, his feet pointing pigeon-toed as they hit the floor with a soft thud. Dean’s heart fluttered at the child-like gestures, it was almost cute how the blue-eyed boy seemed aged into adulthood and so far into childlike ways all in one.

Dean shook his head to himself. _Cute_? He threw the bloody rags into the trash, the bag rustling and wastes thumping against the plastic can as it landed in.

“Thank you,” Castiel murmured, lowly in a whisper as if trying not to wake anyone in the house.

“It’s just us dude, no need to be so quiet,” Dean whispered back with a smirk on his lips, leaning his upper body to project the whispered tease.

Castiel couldn’t help but stare at Dean and that left Dean chuckling at him quietly at the blue-eyed boy's doe-like face. Dean watched Castiel swallow and lift a side of his lips.

“You could just say ‘you’re welcome,’” Castiel grinned, still whispering.

“My ‘you’re welcome’ is me teasing you, Cas,” Dean chuckled.

“I’ll take my leave then.” Castiel’s voice broke away from the whisper now, his voice gravelly and gruff, it sent shivers down Dean’s spine.

“Woah, Woah, hey,” Dean scrambled after Castiel, hitting his hip on the sharp corner of a counter, _Fuck_ , “Lemme drive ya home,” he scrambled out.

Castiel seemed panicked “You don’t have to, you’ve done enough already,”

“Can it,” Dean muttered, grabbing the keys to the red pick-up, “Just lemme do this too.”

“Dean, no I-” Castiel sighed at Dean’s determined gaze, frozen under the green stare, he huffed “Fine,” and walked out the door with Dean trailing quickly behind him.

Dean locked the door with a click, the key roughly sounding out a low scrape as he took it out of the lock, the bunch of them jingling together as he moved them. He looked to Castiel, jingled them obnoxiously in his hand and grinned as he leads Castiel to the truck. Castiel promptly followed at his side, his stature punctual and carefree.

Dean rolled a thick zipper jacket into a ball and tossed it to Castiel, who barely managed to catch it with both arms, almost fumbling it all together. “Put it on, it’s getting chilly and I don’t want you catching a cold after patching you up,” Dean grumbled as he entered the truck.

Dean started the pick-up, the engine revving up with a sharp squeak until it started into its regular roar. It was shaking his core, but not in the same way as the Impala, it started with the rumble and shifting of the motor as he breathed in the scent of oil, he would have to check for that later. With Castiel by his side in the truck, slamming the heavy door. He drove.

“Thank you,” Castiel’s graveled voice broke the silence as they drove down the red-dirt-gravel road, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me tonight and I apologize-”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Castiel questioned as if in a challenge if Dean had glanced over long enough he was sure Castiel had that head tilt and squint in his eyes, but decided not to wreck the truck by looking at Castiel.

“Don’t apologize,” Dean answered Castiel’s tone calmly, looking at the headlights in his rearview mirror come up.

“I just feel like a burden to you,” Castiel murmured, barely audible over the roar of the engine, “I barely know you and here I was bleeding on you, your furniture, you taking your bandages to cover up my wounds, cleaning them beforehand and now you’re driving me home.”

“I really don’t mind,” Dean glanced quickly to Castiel in the passenger than to the road again. _Look at the road, moron._

Castiel felt Dean’s gaze leave as soon as it appeared onto him and he leaned closer to the window of the oil smelling pick-up truck, resting his head against the cool window, water from the nightly dew was drizzling down the glass.

“Yeah, but,” Castiel sighed and turned to look at Dean again, curls sticking to his forehead “I still feel like I am on account of all of this and you not even really knowing me.”

“Really man it’s okay,” Dean answered, “I really don’t mind and honestly I already consider you a friend and like you seem like a nice guy and interesting to say the least, plus-.”

“You missed the turn.”

“Huh?”

“You were supposed to turn, but I didn’t want to interrupt you.” Castiel murmured as Dean looked over at Castiel, who looked back with a blank stare on his features. Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed.

He laughed so hard he had to pull over the pick-up and he continued his belly starting to become sore as he did, he looked at Castiel again, seeing him try to hold in his own laughter by biting his bottom lip as if trying to be polite, but as Dean looked at him it managed to escape from him as well.

They were left in the pick-up, on the side of the road, middle of the country full of fields and trees, laughing. Laughing at what neither of them knew, but Dean felt his shoulders become lighter than they had in ages.

Dean never laughed that hard in his life and he put his whole body into to where he had to lean against Castiel’s shoulder for support, he felt the gently grip Castiel had on his arm as they laughed and he never felt at peace as he did in that moment of just laughing his ass off with a boy he barely knew.

It took moments of breathing and laughter between until they managed to stop. Dean buried his face into Castiel’s arm breathing in the scent of him through the sleeve of the jacket. Castiel still had a few bursts of laughter shake through him. Dean felt the jolts of his chest move him around and he smiled.

Dean sat up slowly, holding his jaw, “I haven’t laughed like that in ages.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever laughed like that,” Castiel mentioned quizzically.

Dean stared, a little shocked at the comment Castiel casually brought up, “Really?” he asked as he sat in the driver’s seat again.

“Yes,” Castiel answered stoically, “It’s rare of me to laugh at anything, I find joy, but… not like that, I’ve never laughed at someone else’s laugh until now.”

Dean felt his ears turn red in embarrassment, not in shame but because it seemed Castiel was complimenting him, “Well I like your laugh.”

“I like your’s more,” Castiel answered, staring intensely, “It brightens the room, same with your smile.”

Dean’s blood went cold at that sentence and he felt those walls come back up. A barrier. _Brightens a room_. “Uh, yeah, so…” he trailed clearing his throat, “I’m just going to back up and turn around and… stuff.”

Castiel squinted at Dean, “Did I say something to offend you, Dean.”

God, his voice saying his name sent shivers down his spine and Den wanted so badly to hate it, but he couldn't. This guy was different.

“No, ‘course not.” Dean turned the trucks steering wheel, busting a U-ie.

“If you don’t tell me it’s going to bother me so…”

Dean shrugged his shoulders and he drove onto the gravel road.

“Dean-”

“My dad mentioned my mom the same way,” Dean answered interrupting Castiel.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel pointed out, “Help me to?”

“My mom passed away somethin’ odd years, my dad mentioned her smile brightening the room and like” pause, “I don’t know it got me into my head.”

“Your head is a dangerous place I assume?”

Dean’s throat rippled through tension as he swallowed, “Yeah,” he answered an answer barely audible, his voice breaking slightly, he cleared his throat, “Yeah.”

“Let’s just,” pause, “Pull over.”

“Huh?”

“Pull over,” Castiel answered loudly.

Dean pulled over again, looking out to the field.

Castiel hopped out of the truck before it could even pull over, causing the hair on Dean’s neck to rise in anxiety as Castiel ran to an old rickety pasture gate.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean called out the opened door.

“Opening the gate!” Castiel called, unlatching the chains and swinging the creaking metal gate open, “C’ mon Dean, I want to see the sunrise!”

Dean sighed, “I’m tryna get ya home, Cas, won’t your parents be mad?”

Castiel hopped back in the truck, slamming the door, he shook his head looking at Dean in the fading twilight, “No, they’re dead.” he stated casually. “Now common drive to the oak uphill and we’ll watch it rise, I want to see it with you.”

Dean stared at those eyes he knew were now blue and the colors of all the skies and oceans combined, but he would never notice if they had greens and browns in them until the sun rose. He wanted to see that.

He drove at the thought about the colors of Castiel’s eyes and the future blue of the sky. Twilight would be no more.

The field sounded out the ironic hum of the old pick-up's radio. Playing the Eagles; _Tequila Sunrise_.


	10. Chapter 10

Truce - Twenty One Pilots

**"The Sun Will Rise And We Will Try Again"**

The long, low, hallow, horn of a train sounded in the distance as the laid in the back of the pick-up. The had collected hay from the side of the road and laid it out in the back and found a couple of blankets under the seat of the truck and nested in the bed of the pick-up.

They stared at the now fading stars, talking about the basic anatomy of hands now, Dean fiddled with a string on the button of his flannel shirt as Castiel talked about ligaments and tendons, the what-not. He couldn’t help but smile at Castiel’s dorky admiration over the small things, listening to everything he had to say about what fingernails were made of and how broken fingers mend themselves.

There was an underlying feeling that Dean refused to acknowledge, but honestly, he didn’t know what it was. Dean wasn’t one to be in tune with his emotions, feelings, and thoughts. They usually left him frustrated. Angry really.

“I like how the stars start to fade out into the colors of the sky,” Castiel sighed, arms laying on his stomach as he fiddled with the groves under his nail.

Dean chuckles lightly at that, a slight grin on his face, blinking eyelashes past his eyes to look up at the opening colors of the sky. “Never really noticed it.”

“It’s strange seeing stars here, and them actually being so far off and away and dead.”

“Well damn Cas, you don’t have to be so blunt about death.” the bubbles of air passing through Dean’s lungs into a small laugh.

“Death is probably the bluntest thing in existence.”

“What do you mean?” Dean looked to Castiel, who was now sitting against the window of the truck, leaning his weight against the rear windshield glass.

“Because death can come at any time, you never know when or how even if you have an expectancy of how you die,” Castiel sighed, “Like cancer...”

For some reason, that word sent chills down Dean’s spine and his nerves tingled, “Cas,” he swallowed “Are you sick?” 

“What do you mean?” Castiel’s eyes widened, “Oh! No, no, no, no, but my aunt had cancer and I remember how she was expected to live three months but ended up living for five more years,” Castiel chuckled, playing with a piece of hay, staring out into the field, “Stubborn woman she was.”

Dean sighed.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, I apologize.” Castiel looked up at Dean now, away from the open field, he gripped Dean’s hand slightly to acknowledge his apology to be more sincere. 

Dean looked to his hand covered with Castiel’s, slightly mesmerized with the hold and grip, the vein that pulsated out slightly and callous. Castiel didn’t seem like it, but he was, in fact, able-bodied and solid for his height, and Dean could just tell by the way Castiel had gripped him in the seat of the truck and now by the heaviness of Castiel’s hand. Dean slightly moved his hand away and Castiel moved away.

Dean felt a grave dig into his heart as the contact left. It made absolutely no sense. He wanted to be touched in every way by everyone, but all at once he hated the contact because of the peace it held - or even the absolute harsh measures of touch that would have him aching in positives and negative.

He wanted to have Castiel touch him ever so gently and firm, but hit him for wanting it. The fierce course in his veins ached for something, it was almost sadistic and so wrong. He wanted to say please for so many reasons.  _ Please tell me it’s alright to be happy. To be in this moment. To be with you. In this moment. I don’t know if I’m lost or if I’m genuinely wanting this, but tell me everything will be alright. _

“What are you thinking behind those eyes of yours?” Castiel questioned, face blank in a stare. It was almost soul-destroying, but it was also renewing.

Dean swallowed, low into his throat, the heat of guilt swallowing his stomach, he struggled for breath to get out what he wanted to say, he sighed out finally“I’m hoping everything is going to be alright.”

“Of course it is.” Castiel mused softly, laying down and shifting his body to face towards Dean.

“What if I’m not?” Dean asked, feeling the grave dig into vulnerability.

“I’m not either,” Castiel said, moving a tuft of hair from Dean’s hair, he really needed a haircut, “But that’s alright.”

Dean didn’t believe it.

“Or it will be,” Castiel continued, “Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or the next, but eventually,” Castiel suddenly put his hand on Dean’s face, pressing into the hard cheekbone - Dean hated himself for flinching at that, but Castiel didn’t move, “It’s going to be okay Dean, I may not know what you’re going through, but I know this - You will be alright.”

Dean nodded, feeling small in Castiel’s palm and for the word speaking through his heart. He barely knew Castiel but… Here he was, going for it.

Castiel’s breath caught between them before he pulled and snaked his other hand around Dean’s head, the other still on Dean’s face, bring them close together as they took it in themselves into a small kiss. Castiel hooked his leg between Dean’s and gripped Dean’s shirt. Dean groaned out air when his shoulder bumped the side of the truck but kept his lips up with Castiel as the moved.

_ What am I doing? This isn’t right. Not for me. Not for Castiel. _

Dean pulled away, getting a gust of air before he was pulled back into a kiss so fervent, hungry and deep that he almost couldn’t breathe out and in for more. It wasn’t Castiel that pulled him in, in fact, Castiel was the one to fumble through the kisses before getting on track with Dean. This kiss wasn’t from Castiel. It was from Dean.

Dean flipped them over in the hay, pressing himself to Castiel, but keeping most of his weight off of the boy. He looked down at the boy below him. Castiel’s eyes were wide and hazy with a yearning for more and the greed of the morning sky opening up with the sun past the window shutters, clouds. 

Dean felt a riveting rebellion against himself, his mind, body, soul, his father, Sam, society, the dreams, and Castiel as he tested out a liquid thrust against Castiel’s stern and sharp hip bones, causing a sudden, low, gasping breath from Castiel.

“Dean,” Castiel rasped. Dean moved against him again, feeling the sudden slight hardness against his hip as he moved against Castiel’s thigh.

_ Fuck _ . He moved again

“Dean,” Castiel rasped out and moved his hips up away, slightly bucking Dean away, “Wait.”

Dean nodded and gave a peck at Castiel’s neck, he shifted away to give Castiel room to sit up. The blush deep on Castiel’s face and lips were already swollen from the biting playful nips Dean had abused his teeth on. 

Castiel let out a shaky breath, “I…” he swallowed, “I’ve never really done this type of thing,” he cleared his throat, “I’m not that experienced.”

Dean smiled lightly and brought Castiel’s face closer to him and gave him a light peck. “I don’t either,” he whispered against Castiel’s lips, brushing the softly as he spoke, “Well not with boys anyway.”

Castiel blinked, eyelashes cascading a shadow, “Kiss me.”

Dean did.

He heard that wailing cry come from the distance, below the oak tree. He saw flashes of lightning. He flinched away, closing his eyes.

 

Dean opened his eyes, the sun beating down on him as he woke up from the dream, a light lined layer of sweat clung to his body and his neck ached from sleeping in the bed of the truck and he felt the aching hardness of his cock in his jeans. He looked beside him seeing Castiel asleep sitting against the corner of the bed of the truck, curled into himself.

What the fuck.

Dean had a different dream.

A dream about Castiel.

A boy he barely knew.

A dream about kissing him and having the want of…

...Fucking him…

_ What the fuck. _

Dean flinched as Castiel moved slightly in his sleep, brows furrowing in his sleep, lips setting themselves into a pout. God Dean was curious about how they felt just now. Were they as soft as they were in the dream - Wait - Why was Dean thinking that way? There’s no way that’s going to happen. Yet, the small part of him he always knew was screaming on the inside. 

He swallowed it down.

_ No time for that bullshit. _

He sighed, frustrated with his hard-on and the thoughts of Castiel from his dream.

_ Time to go jack off somewhere, because it seems like this thing isn’t going down _ .


End file.
